


That Fucking Umbrella

by Aria_Lerendeair



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint!angst, Coulson was a Kingsman, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Spies, Spy!AU, cuteness, get-together, sap, spy husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Lerendeair/pseuds/Aria_Lerendeair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were some things about Phillip J. Coulson that did not make sense, or add up.  </p><p>Well, they did add up.  To, uh, something.  Now he just needed to figure out exactly what that...was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Fucking Umbrella

**Author's Note:**

> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/82/ed/c5/82edc592d88b43a596530bd86b8ac74d.jpg
> 
> Okay, so this fic was inspired by the above picture, and because when I looked at it, it suddenly MADE SO MUCH SENSE that Coulson would be a Kingsman from the American division. It explains the SUITS, it explains the sheer badassery and dear lord, it explains more than I want to think about. 
> 
> So yes, that's what inspired this fic, so just GO with it! 
> 
> Also, credit to Raiwalk for the amazing title!

 

 

 

Clint’s not the type of guy who asks too many questions. Ask too many questions, you get you ass in trouble. 

 

He was really, really good at avoiding getting in trouble.

 

 _Sometimes_.

 

Okay, never. 

 

But that wasn’t the point.  The point was that he didn’t ask _certain_ questions because he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, or that he wouldn’t be shot if he found out the answer. 

 

However.

 

 _However_.

 

There were some things about Phillip J. Coulson that did not make sense, or add up. 

 

If Coulson ever found out he knew that the J stood for James, he would likely be shot on sight.  That didn’t stop him from calling Phil Slim Jim for a week, just to watch him give the minutest of twitches.  He liked living dangerously, what could he say. 

 

Back to the topic at hand.  There were several things that didn’t add up. For example.  Thing number one.  Coulson’s file (he didn’t steal the paper copy, Natasha did, and she’d purposefully left it sitting at his bedside table, how was he supposed to _resist_ that?!), had him listed as having been an Army Ranger, recruited from there into SHIELD. 

 

But see, see, Clint knew faked paperwork. He _knew_ it.  He had more than his fair share.  He knew how to make a background seem just viable enough that no one asked questions. He was pretty sure Coulson’s background in the Rangers was faked, mostly because of the other things that didn’t make sense. 

 

Thing number two.  Coulson’s suits.  Not only were they completely against SHIELD protocol when in the field, Coulson got away with wearing them all the _time_! All the time!  In the field, at base, while traveling…  As far as Clint could see, Coulson had six different suits (two black, blue and dark grey, all with a pinstripe variant, two tuxedos and two smoking jackets.  Coulson also had thirteen shirts, perfectly fitted, in various shades of white...not that he paid attention). 

 

He absolutely did not choke the first time he saw the dark navy blue velvet smoking jacket that had come out on an Op. He did _not_.

 

Which led him to thing number three. Coulson’s suits were impeccably fitted. _Impeccably._ For shits and giggles he’d looked up what a proper suit fitting, from bolt of fabric to finished product would cost and had choked on his donut. 

 

He’d really liked that donut. 

 

 _However_! That also brought him to point number four.  Coulson made decent money as, well, whatever the fuck his title was, because Clint certainly didn’t have clearance to actually know the name of said title. (Assistant Deputy Director, because Natasha is a fucking amazing spy and knows he needs to know these little things about Coulson.) 

 

 _Anyway_.

 

There was no way Coulson could afford those suits of his. No way.  Not with as often as they got damaged on Ops and needed replacing. Which, after a fucking awful Op that resulted in two new scars in his side from two well-aimed bullets (he’d gotten both the fuckers, single-handed with a pistol, _yeah_ , he was fucking Hawkeye all right), he’d wondered how Coulson had come out with only some bruised ribs. 

 

They had been under a _hail_ of bullets.  Both of them. And there was no way at least one didn’t hit Coulson, somewhere.  He also hadn’t had any hand-to-hand combat, so there was no explanation for the bruises that were scattered over his back and legs. 

 

Which led him to his final point. There was something funny about the fabric of Coulson’s suits.  In fact. It might even be _bulletproof_. 

 

Unfortunately, all of these points got him precisely fucking nowhere in understanding more about the Enigma, ie, Phillip J. Coulson. He’d tossed his observations past Nat, who had done nothing more than laugh at him, pat his shoulder and tell him to find something else to obsess over. 

 

Except he couldn’t. 

 

Clint ran through the list in his mind again. Number one.  Coulson’s file looked fake.  Number two.  Coulson’s suits. Number three.  Coulson’s _fitted_ suits. His perfectly fucking fitted suits. Number four.  Coulson’s expensive as fuck, _fitted_ , suits.  Number five. Coulson’s expensive as fuck, _fitted_ , **_bulletproof_** , suits.

 

All of that led him precisely nowhere. Nowhere, nowhere interesting, nowhere useful and not one single step closer to figuring out more about Phillip James Coulson. 

 

Until he met Tony Stark. 

 

Tony was loud.  And obnoxious. And hilarious. Clint liked him, he just had to pretend he didn’t most of the time.  Tony talked, incessantly, and Clint got that.  He did the same thing when he was in a perch, with Coulson on the comms.

 

However, most of the time Tony talked, it was techno-babble and didn’t mean anything that he could possibly care about.

 

 _Until_!

 

Until Tony said something that made perfect fucking sense.

 

“I tell you, trying to get an appointment at Kingsman is fucking impossible, even for me, they said they couldn’t fit me in until tomorrow, and I told them I needed this new suit by the end of the week and would pay triple, but they refused to bump the guy getting fitted today! You would think bulletproof suits would be easy to come by these days what with-”

 

Clint snapped to immediate attention. Bulletproof.  _Fitted_. **_Suits_**. “Bulletproof?” he echoed, looking at Tony. 

 

Tony blinked and turned to Clint. “Yeah.  I’m not any good to the team if I get shot while I’m at a party, now am I?” 

 

Clint gave a slow nod and the sound of Tony’s voice washed over him again.  Kingsman. Bulletproof, fitted, expensive, suits.

 

He’d never considered that the suits could be the clue he was _missing_. 

 

Fucking hell. 

 

Who _was_ Coulson?

 

 

 

~!~

 

 

 

Clint snapped the file shut that Natasha had handed him six hours ago.  He pressed a hand to his face and took a deep, frustrated breath. 

 

He had his answer. 

 

Coulson was a _spy_.

 

Coulson was fucking James Bond. 

 

Or the American equivalent. 

 

 _Fuck_.

 

Was Coulson playing them all?  Did he have a completely separate agenda? Was he trying to take down SHIELD from within?  He was only two spots from the Director role.  It would be easy for him, at this point. 

 

Clint removed his hand and stared at the ceiling, exhaling hard.  _No_.  Phillip J. Coulson. He could trust Coulson. He _did_ trust Coulson, often, even.  In fact, Coulson was the only other person besides Natasha that he trusted without question. 

 

Which meant he knew what he had to do.

 

 

~!~

 

 

Clint often hid (though it wasn’t hiding, it was a strategic retreat from the medical bay several weeks before he should have left) in Coulson’s office after Ops.  Mostly because this was the only way that Coulson would ever, _ever_ get him to do paperwork, but more because Coulson’s office was _way_ better than medical.

 

So when Coulson’s secretary (her name, he knew her name, he just forgot every time he walked away from her) let him into the office with a smile, he sat down in his usual spot on the couch and pulled out his pistol, resting it on his knees. 

 

His mouth felt dry and fuck, he had no idea what he was going to say.  He squinted at the umbrella that Coulson kept tucked next to his desk at all times. The man was overly cautious about the weather, but then what could he say, he liked how prepared Coulson was for shit like that. 

 

The sound of Coulson’s footsteps echoed just outside the doorway to the office and Clint resettled on his perch on the edge of the couch and waited for the man to enter the room.  He could hear Coulson and his secretary (dammit what was her name, was it Stephanie?  No, Stephanie was the woman by the copier, was it Rebecca?  It might be Emily.  Emily sounded right) chatting about the door.  He was pretty sure he heard his name mentioned, and then a note of concern in Coulson’s voice. 

 

 _Fuck_. If Coulson was worried about him, that was going to make him even harder to interrogate.  He stared as Coulson came into the office and locked the door behind him.  His stress levels ratcheted up a few notches and he stared at the door.  He could get out if he needed to.  Throw Coulson off him, hard enough to hit the wall, maybe over the desk and he could get out. 

 

He might be able to get out of the compound before Coulson raised the alarm.  Maybe. If Coulson didn’t kill him first. He blinked as dark grey pinstripe suddenly entered his vision.  He tilted his head back and stared at Coulson.  Interrogation.  _Right_. 

 

“Any reason in particular you have your weapon out, Clint?” Coulson asked, raising an eyebrow. 

 

Clint hated that eyebrow.  It made his stomach do stupid turnings-over in his chest and fuck how could this man be a spy?  How could he betray all of them like that?  “Safety’s on,” he managed to mutter. 

 

The rest of the tension drained out of Coulson and the man walked back towards his desk.  Clint had the feeling that even if he did shoot Coulson, that suit would protect him.  It’d have to be a head or a hand shot.  Hand wasn’t lethal. Leaving him with one option.

 

“Always good to know you are observing SHIELD safety standards, Clint.  However, that doesn’t tell me why you’re in my office.  You don’t owe me paperwork, you’re on mandatory rest after the mission in Brazil, and you have no reason to be on SHIELD property,” Coulson said, settling behind his desk. 

 

Clint stared at him.  He sighed and lifted the gun of his lap and flicked the safety off, pointing the gun at Coulson.  “I need you to stand up, Coulson.” 

 

He didn’t flinch, not when Coulson stared at him with wide eyes and stood out of his chair slowly.  “Keep your hands in the air,” Clint forced himself to order. He only had Coulson as long as he kept the element of surprise.  “Now hold your arms straight out.” 

 

Coulson obeyed the order, his expression still cautious and bemused.  Clint kept the gun levelled at him and took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry, Phil.” 

 

“Will you tell me what happened, Clint? Maybe I can help,” Phil said, taking a step towards Clint. 

 

“Stay right where you are,” Clint ordered. “Your office is soundproof, isn’t it?”

 

Coulson raised an eyebrow.  “You know that it is.” 

 

Clint took another deep breath and fired a single shot. He closed his eyes and lowered the gun. Now he had his answer.

 

Coulson’s breathing, no, Phil’s breathing was coming faster now, though still far more calm than anyone else would have been, having just been shot at.  He took another deep breath and opened his eyes, staring at where the bullet had hit the fabric.  There was no hole, the suit was intact. 

 

“Did you miss?” Phil asked, lowering his arms.

 

“I don’t miss,” Clint said, holstering his gun, flicking the safety on a moment later.  “I needed an answer, and now I have it.”  He had to get out of here, had to tell Fury, tell Hill, Coulson was a spy, was a spy for Kingsman, and not for SHIELD-

 

“You could have just asked me.” Phil asked, watching as Clint froze by the door. 

 

Clint tightened his hand on the door handle, keying in the code.  He opened it and looked over his shoulder at Phil.  “You wouldn’t have told me about Kingsman if I’d asked.  I’m going to Fury now, Coulson.  I’d get out of here while you have the chance,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

 

Everyone took one look at him and got out of his way. Clint didn’t know whether to be glad of that, or to wonder what the hell his face looked like that no one wanted to say a word to him.  Even Hill, when he stopped at her desk to demand she come with him, only offered up a token protest before following him to the Director’s office. 

 

Natasha was waiting for them, a file held in her hands. Clint took the file from her and knocked once on the door.  Fury answered them a moment later and Clint took a deep breath before walking into the room. He was going to do this. He was really going to do this.

 

He froze at the sight of Phil standing next to Fury’s desk and pulled his weapon, pointing it straight at him.  Clint cursed when his hands shook and forced them to steady. “He needs to leave,” he growled. Absently, he noted that Phil had his umbrella.  What the fuck?

 

Phil stepped forward.  “You’re under some misapprehensions-”

 

Clint swallowed hard and stared at Fury. They’d never really gotten along, but he knew he was right.  And he owed SHIELD his loyalty.  (He was still trying to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that he owed Phil far more loyalty than SHIELD, but it was a persistent little fucker.) “Director Fury, I have evidence that Phil Coulson is a spy,” he said, watching the whole room go quiet.

 

He stepped around Phil, no, no, no, Coulson, not Phil, and forced himself not to look at the hurt look on his face. He offered the folder to Fury and was glad for the brief touch Natasha gave to his lower back. This was hard on her too. They’d trusted Phil. With their lives, to let them be them, and now...now for this. 

 

Fury looked over the file quickly and snapped it shut, and Clint swallowed, staring at him.  Now he’d call for Phil to be arrested and he’d never see Phil again, would never hear his voice in his ear on an Op, it’d have to be someone else, someone he didn’t trust nearly as much…

 

“Well, you are right about one thing, Hawkeye,” Fury said, standing up.  “Phil is a spy.”

 

Clint flinched.  It was different to skirt around the idea, to imply it, but hearing it said out loud hurt almost as much as hearing it in his mind. 

 

“Ex-spy,” Phil said, mildly, walking over to the folder on Fury’s desk.  “Unless spy has been added to my current job definition.  However, those two are far better at it than I am,” he said, picking up the folder and gesturing to Clint and Natasha. 

 

Clint felt the world tilt a little on it’s axis and looked over at Natasha.  Her face was blank, but she was as confused as he was.  “What the-” 

 

“Kingsman, the agency that you have been investigating, is an International Intelligence Agency.  They operate on their own, within their own boundaries,” Phil said, reading through the file.  “You’ve gathered an impressive amount of information on them in a short time period. Natasha’s work, I presume?”

 

Natasha shrugged. 

 

Forget tilting, his world had completely gone sideways. Clint looked from Hill to Fury to Phil, back to Fury.  “You knew he was a spy?”

 

Fury chuckled.  “Of course.  I recruited him from Kingsman.  They were rather frustrated to lose him, however, they have also made a habit of recruiting from SHIELD ranks, so we have an understanding.” 

 

Clint blinked again and looked over to Phil. The world was slowly tilting back to rights, but...jesus he was a fucking idiot.  “So you aren’t a spy?” 

 

Phil smiled and snapped the file shut. “I was.  A rather good one, too, if Fury’s recruitment is any indication. I’m impressed you managed to dig up as much as you have.  Edison is going to be frustrated you got this far.” 

 

“Edison?” Clint managed, clearing his throat.

 

“Head of the Kingsman tech department in the US. The code name changes depending on the country, but I am most familiar with the US branch,” Phil explained, smiling.  “I’ll take you to meet him.  I’m sure you and he can talk shop on weaponry.” 

 

Clint felt dazed, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t the lingering effects of his concussion.  He looked at Phil and couldn’t stop staring.  “So…” 

 

Fury shook his head and looked at Phil and then Natasha. “This knowledge does not leave this room.  Phil trusts you both and explained he was willing to tell you all.” 

 

Clint nodded.  “Yep, got it, not gonna tell anyone.  Nat, I’ll see you later?”  He waved at her and turned around, leaving Fury’s office.  The rest of the Helicarrier was a blur as he walked. He didn’t realize where he was going until he’d stopped in front of Phil’s office. 

 

A warm hand was pressed against his back and suddenly he was being ushered into the room and to the couch.  Clint realized in the back of his mind that Phil was locking the door again, and leaning the umbrella against his desk. He squinted at it. “That’s not just a normal umbrella, is it?” 

 

Phil paused and smiled at him.  “No, it isn’t.” 

 

Clint grinned a little.  Rather like Phil.  Hiding behind the veneer of something regular.  “Awesome.” 

 

“I think you’ll rather like it.  I’ll show you it, someday soon.”

 

Clint nodded again and stared up at Phil. The last of the tension from what had just happened was draining out of him and he groaned, dropping his face into his hands.  “I think I owe you about several dozen apologies.”

 

Phil chuckled.  “I might say the same.  How about we just talk?” 

 

“Talking sounds great,” Clint said, smiling when Phil came to sit next to him.  “So, are you like James Bond?” 

 

“Decidedly less British, but yes, that’s the general idea,” Coulson said, smiling at Clint.  “Did you have to shoot me to know for sure?” 

 

Clint shrugged a little helplessly. “It seemed like the quickest way. You can withstand torture, you wouldn’t answer my questions outright if you were a spy, and Natasha and I could only get so far,” he said, and then added.  “Besides, I didn’t shoot you, I shot your jacket.”   

 

Phil chuckled and nodded.  “Yes, I suppose that is true.” 

 

“That’s how you managed to not get a bullet in you in Croatia, isn’t it?  When we were under a hail of bullets-” 

 

“Nine times.  Trust me, for all that this suit stops the bullet from penetrating, you feel the impact,” Phil said, bumping his shoulder into Clint’s. 

 

Clint snorted.  “Which explains why your back was a mess of bruises.” 

 

Phil exhaled slowly and smiled.  “You have no idea how much I wanted my umbrella during that Op.”

 

“Your umbrella?” Clint asked, glancing at it and then back to Phil with a raised eyebrow.  “Is it bulletproof too?” 

 

“Against just about everything that isn’t an armor piercing round,” Phil said, nodding and glancing at it.  “Also fires one rubber bullet, a sonic blast of air, two shot gun shells and twenty standard nine millimeter rounds.” 

 

Clint blinked and looked at the seemingly innocent umbrella again.  “Holy shit, Kingsman tech department and SHIELD tech department need to get together.”

 

Phil grinned at Clint and stood up. “What makes you think they haven’t? A good deal of our department has significant others that are employed by Kingsman.” 

 

Clint groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “Fuck, Phil, I feel like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole here.” 

 

“Understandable,” Phil said, walking over to his desk and leaning back against it.  “However, I have a very important question for you that I need you to answer if you can.” 

 

Clint swallowed and looked up at Phil, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

 

“Can you trust me?” 

 

Clint dropped his head and stared at the floor. “That isn’t even a question, Phil.”

 

“Not ten minutes ago, you thought I was a spy, and you tried to turn me in to Director Fury.  I think it’s a valid question, considering,” Phil said. 

 

“No, I mean,” Clint started and then sighed, rubbing angrily at his hair.  “Trusting you. It isn’t even a question.” He shrugged.  “I’ve always trusted you, always will.”  He glanced up at Phil and chewed on his lip. “Hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done was walking in here and then to Fury’s office.” 

 

Phil hummed and stared at Clint. “You did look...unlike yourself.”

 

“Because that’s my _job_ ,” Clint growled.  “It doesn’t matter _who_ it is, it doesn’t matter how _high_ the corruption goes. How I feel about you couldn’t, and didn’t influence my decision.  It _couldn’t_.” He pushed himself up and off the couch and paced across the room. 

 

“I imagine that was very difficult to do. I’m-”

 

Clint whirled on Phil.  “It wasn’t _very difficult_. It was the most difficult thing I have ever fucking done.  **_Ever_**! Bar nothing else in my fucking life!” Clint shouted, advancing angrily towards him.  He pushed a finger into Phil’s chest. 

 

Phil stared at Clint.  “I’m sorry, Clint.” 

 

Clint tightened his hand on the lapel of Phil’s suit. His eyes were suspiciously watery. “Yeah, you’d better be fucking sorry.” He shook Phil a little bit and focused in on the tie for today.  Black, with a faint, off-black diamond pattern.  “I’m really fucking angry with you,” he whispered. 

 

“I know.  I should have told you,” Phil said, reaching out to rub his hand along Clint’s side.

 

He should have let go, about sixty seconds ago, but now Phil’s hand was brushing against his side and Clint was pretty sure he was fucking frozen in place.  “I know why you couldn’t,” he said, his voice soft.  Fuck, his heart was pounding, he needed to get away before he did something else stupid. 

 

“I wanted to,” Phil said, his hand coming to a stop on Clint’s waist.  “That doesn’t make up for it.  But I wanted to tell you. Please believe that.”

 

Clint gave a small chuckle even though it wasn’t funny. He cleared his throat and blinked hard. “Yeah, I believe you, Phil.” Phil shuddered under him and he pulled back to look at him again. 

 

Phil looked, looked stubborn.  Clint blinked at him and tilted his head a little bit. “You okay there?” Phil still looked like he was about to swallow his heart. 

 

“No more secrets, Clint?” Phil asked.

 

“How about no more big, life-changing secrets that could potentially give me a heart attack at a far too young age?” Clint suggested, starting to grin at Phil.  The tension bled out of the other man in a second and he couldn’t help his satisfied smirk.

 

“All right then,” Phil said. 

 

Clint had precisely half a second to wonder what that meant when Phil’s hand was tightening on his waist and he was being pulled closer.  Then warm lips were on his and Clint told his brain to go fuck off, because _jesus_ he was being kissed by Phil and he was never going to think again. 

 

By the time Phil, _fuck_ , his brain was nothing more than a repetition of ‘Phil Phil Phil Phil Phil more Phil more Phil Phil Phil Phil’ going around in circles, pulled away from him, Clint was shellshocked.  It felt like shock.  How many more times could the world go sideways in a single day?  “Uh, Phil?” 

 

Phil smiled.  “You said no more big, life-changing secrets that could potentially give you a heart attack.  I figured it was time to get that one out of the way.” 

 

Clint blinked, twice more and stared at Phil. “You, uh...can you, catch me up here? I feel like I missed something…” he waved awkwardly at them both.  “In there, somewhere.” 

 

Phil tilted his head and studied Clint. “Clint, look at me.”

 

Clint did.  Phil’s eyes were grey and blue and fucking hypnotising.  He’d gotten drunk and waxed romantic about Phil’s eyes to Natasha. At least once. Maybe twice.  Definitely not three or more times.  He swallowed hard, because Phil’s eyes did that little crinkle thing at the corners which meant Phil was happy and smiling and it made his heart do weird flips in his chest. 

 

“Are you listening?” Phil asked.

 

Clint gave a dumb nod.  He kinda couldn’t stop staring.  It was his thing.  He couldn’t really help it.  Not when Phil was looking at him like that.  “Uh...yep?”

 

“I promise that this will be the last life-changing secret of the day,” Phil said, giving Clint a slow squeeze again.

 

“Right,” Clint said, feeling a little dizzy. He was pretty sure that Phil kissed him earlier.  He’d been a bit surprised to kiss back.  Did he even respond? Did Phil think that he didn’t want to kiss him back?  Shit, he needed to fix that-

 

Clint’s brain fizzled when Phil kissed him again. This time he decided not to let Phil be in any doubt that he was _exactly_ where he wanted to be.  He pressed Phil tight against his desk and kissed him back, hard, demanding more and more from Phil, wrapping one arm around Phil’s waist and the other diving into his hair. He only broke apart when they were both desperate for air and stared at Phil, panting. 

 

“You didn’t hear a single thing I said, did you?” Phil asked, chuckling. 

 

“Was it ‘Don’t kiss me’?” Clint asked, leaning in close again. 

 

Phil shook his head.  “No.” 

 

Clint grinned.  “Then I don’t care.” 

 

There was a lot of stuff about Philip James Coulson that didn’t add up.  (Mostly that he burst out laughing the first time Clint said that -on accident- during an argument.) But the important stuff did.

 

The important shit was all that he cared about.

 

Also, seeing Phil’s mouth fall open the first time he walked out in his Kingsman suit? 

 

That was pretty damn worth it. 

 

Even more worth it when he got shot in the shoulder twice later. 

 

Fucking hell, Phil wasn’t kidding. Those hurt like a _sonofabitch_.

 

“A bruised shoulder is better than a bullet hole!” Phil called over his shoulder, ducking as another rain of fire came their way.

 

Another minor explosion to their left sent Phil’s umbrella scattering to their feet.  Clint reached out and snagged it, feeling the impressive weight for a second before handing it over. 

 

They shared a smirk, and he winked. “After you, sir!”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Criticisms welcome!
> 
> You can find me here: http://aria-lerendeair.tumblr.com/
> 
> You can also watch me write fics like this (and dozens of others) live! Follow me on Livestream for fics, shenanigans and a general all-around awesome time! http://new.livestream.com/accounts/7212317

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [That Fucking Umbrella [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427570) by [litrapod (litra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litrapod)




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